


She Was Hurricane

by Stella_May



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:01:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stella_May/pseuds/Stella_May
Summary: Drabbles of Harmione//because I can't seem to track my own damn shit//





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title an excerpt from 'Looking for Alaska', John Green

It’s in the song playing at the start of the Yule ball, it’s the record scratch of his lungs seizing up and his breath spilling out all at once, and his heart pounding so painfully against his chest he wished it’d _stop altogether_. It’s in the spins and twirls of the opening dance, it’s the way his hands tighten when he watches her smile over the head of his partner, it’s the way he stumbles over the steps and turns the wrong way and wishes that the ground would open and he’d fall through because _merlin this is embarrassing_. It’s in the frills and petticoats, it’s the way she’s picked up and spun and he hears her laughter ringing in his ears louder than any song playing and his back burns and his hands clench and he refuses to dance anymore because _she’s dancing with someone else_. It’s the periwinkle in her dress, and the way her eyes glitter and the way he misses her frizz and loves her sleek. It’s in the breath that she takes away, and the way she glows and he is in awe because he didn’t know anyone could shine _that bright_. It’s the way he falls in love with Hermione Granger, and the way he never fell out of love.


	2. Bitten by the Rose's Thorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title an excerpt from Kelly Rose's "Young Love"

He loves all of her, he realises one day, because when she’s gone he sees all of her. He sees that when she’s focused she is furrowed brows and a frown. And when she laughs, she’s all white teeth and split lips; when she’s angry, she’s coloured red and hot to touch; when she’s sad, she’s watered eyes and bit lips; when she’s his, she’s never far.


	3. You'll Hold Me In Your Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title an excerpt from Dorothy Parker's "But Not Forgotten"

She is in all the things he does; she was the radiance of the sun, and the dewy summer mornings; she was the laughter behind his smile. When she is gone, he sees all of her, like the blue skies that he misses on a stormy day. He sees the way she was all furrowed brows and bitten lips, the way her hair was bigger than her, the way she never left his side. He sees her over his shoulder, correcting his sentences when he’s at work. He sees her sliding him hot chocolate in the morning with a smile worth all the warmth in the world. He sees her in the flowers he brings to his parents’ graves. He sees her in his armchair when he’s home late. He sees her in the stands, when he goes to cheer on Ginny. He sees her in their eyes when they ask him if he’s alright. He sees the way she walked him to Death, and he sees the way she never walked him back.


	4. Tore My Heart In Sunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title an excerpt from A. E. Housman's "He Would Not Stay For Me, And Who Can Wonder?"

It’s before the war when she knows him inside out, what he’s thinking before he says it; Harry Potter is her best friend, and she knows all of him like the back of her hand. She recognizes the spark in his eyes when he’s angry; she understands the rage that boils within him, feels the heat that pours from him with the anger; she knows that glint and that smirk and sees the troublesome future dawning.  
It’s during the war when she realizes she loves him. They’re standing in front of two gravestones; Lily and James Potter, and her head is on his shoulder and she _knows_ what he’s thinking. Harry doesn’t have to say anything—she always knows what he’s thinking – so she conjures a wreath, and the tightening of his hand around hers is enough. She loves the warmth he emits during even the coldest nights; she loves the glitter in his eyes when he’s passionate; she loves the way he curls into her at night, and the way his breath ghosts over her skin; she loves him enough to go with him to Death.  
It’s after the war when she tells him. She knows him inside out, and the way he fidgets with his sweater hem, the way he scratches at his scar tell her she shouldn’t. She does. She loves him more than anyone else. His mother’s love saved him from Voldemort, Hermione’s love will save him from everything else. She loves the way his heart beats too fast for justice, the way he slouches against trees in the aftermath of war, she loves the way he doesn’t hate anything anymore. Harry Potter is her best friend, and he’ll tell her he loves her too—but he could never love her like she loves him. She tells him everything, and with a kiss that is entirely too awkward and unrequited, she leaves because she knows him inside out, and even before he thinks it, Hermione knows _it is not her he loves_.


	5. Be Wild Rose or Hellebore or All-Heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title an excerpt from Penelope Shuttle's "The Scattering"

It is in the winter months when he realises it. It is too late, and he aches again from his chest to his throat. He didn’t think he could cry any more. His bones ache in the snow, and he doesn’t partake in snowball fights; he sits in his armchair with a mug of hot chocolate in hand and he watches her dancing in the window, an apparition of what he once saw. Sometimes he sits on the back doorstep of the Burrow, a blanket wrapped around himself. And he forces the ache from his bones with a chill that settles so deep he can barely move. He still hurts. It hurts most, he thinks, when Ginny looks at him with eyes too blue, and hair too straight, and her face is drawn and tight. He cannot love her like he once did, he’d said. His chest cracks and caves and _shatters_ when he wakes up in her room, wrapped in blankets that no longer smell of her, and the room cluttered from his drunken stumbling. His chest splits open, his lips crack and a storm of ‘sorry’s tumble forth. He apologises to nothing. He tries to move, but she runs behind him on house openings, with witty remarks and facts that drip off her tongue too easily. When he glances over his shoulder for the last time and he still doesn’t see her, he leaves. He never moves. He does see her, sometimes, but it is not in the way he used to see her. He sees her face dipped in the flowers in the front lawn, in the fire’s glow when he stares too hard, he sees her dancing on the wind, a phantom. A ghost. The flowers wilt and die, and Harry sees her in that too. He sees her in the barely flickering flames that vanish with a huff of breath, and in the glasses that shatter when he drops them.  
 _He sees her in the liveliest of things, and he sees her in death._


	6. I Rest In The Grace of The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title an excerpt from Wendell Berry's "The Peace of Wild Things"

He wakes up in the mornings and clutches at her, still too amazed to see her here. It is two years past the war, and his back still burns hot with the attention, his wand stays up his sleeve, his grip on her still tightens whenever someone walks too close, his eyes still mist, and his hands still fist up with the thought of the _sacrifices_. The guilt comes in waves, mostly in his happiest moments, but then she smiles and he knows that it was all for this; for this happiness and peace and _her_. It still washes over him on Sunday mornings, when their hair is at its worst, when they’re both so happy in the yellow sunlight that he can’t help but feel a trace of that guilt that they will never know this happiness again. He sees it in her too; the way she rests her hand on her belly too protectively, the way her eyebrows furrow and her eyes stop roving over pages and he knows she’s praying to some deity for the forgiveness that never comes after wartime. They raise Teddy, with his hair black and blue and everything in between, with his eyes amber and green and never the same colour. He gives them the forgiveness they need; when he glances at Hermione’s belly with wide eyes and a matching grin, they see Remus and Tonks and they see _forgiveness_. He never thought he’d be this happy; everyone he’d loved and was loved by had died. But she stayed, like she always did, by his side. They are happy, now. He knows they will be happy when everyone forgets Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

_They will be happy forever_.


	7. What He Fought For

He sees her at her worst, with her hair tamed and a periwinkle dress, tears streaming down her face; distraught. He sees her at her best; her hair so wild and curly, her face streaked with dirt and blood but her eyes are so bright and he thinks _merlin, this is what I’ve come back for_. He sees her somewhere in between, with her hair in a loose bun, a too-big shirt on over her sweatpants, dancing with him in the living room to the Spice Girls, screaming _IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER_. He sees her by his side always, a constant grip on his forearm, the warmth of her body so familiar whenever she leans into his side. He feels the cold wind when she leaves, and he thinks _please let her come back to me,_ because he knows that everyone he’s loved leaves, and no one comes back. She comes back every time. He sees her smiling over the Weasley table at Sunday Lunch, cheeks pink and eyes twinkling. He sees her walking down the aisle, a bouquet of twigs and leaves from Luna, near laughing at the way his hair _still_ wouldn’t abide by the formal dress. He sees her painting their first home white and blue and white again. He sees her holding their first child, absolutely exhausted because _TWENTY FOUR HOURS OF LABOUR_? And they both let out sighs of exhaustion at the sight of their child that was more hair than baby. He sees her beside him in every moment of their lives. He sees her in life and he thinks _this is peace. This is happiness. This is what I fought for_.


	8. They Flee From Me That Sometime Did Me Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from the poem "They Flee From Me" by Sir Thomas Wyatt

She was a cool wind on a still summer day. She was warm rays on a winter afternoon. She was refreshing. She was a constant comfort. She was. 

Loving Hermione was like breathing. 

Everything with Hermione was easy; passing notes in the study hall; hands tangling as they fell into step with each other. The way they danced sans music, the way she understood what he wanted before he did. When she transfigured a wreath on his parents’ graves. When she walked with him into the Forbidden Forest. 

Loving Hermione was like breathing. 

Living without Hermione was like setting the world on fire and only him burning.

Loving Hermione was like breathing, so when she died, Harry didn’t wonder why he’d developed asthma. 

Loving Hermione was everything; losing Hermione was everything.


End file.
